


North

by pawsdash



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baby Peter Parker, Bullying, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Protective Steve Rogers, Superfamily (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-23 03:15:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18541171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsdash/pseuds/pawsdash
Summary: A collection of shorts based on two concepts- the song North by Sleeping At Last and superfamily





	1. where our roots may grow

_We will call this place our home_

_Dirt in which our roots may grow_

 

Peter, Bruce argued, joined him in his daily gardening because the toddler liked getting his hands dirty. Peter, Steve countered, liked to “garden” with Bruce so that he could eat dirt. Bruce was far too fond of his new hobby, becoming so absorbed that Peter took the liberty of munching on as much soil as he liked. When he would be returned to Steve, the boy would have slobber and mud caked over his chubby cheeks. Tony, of course, was horrified, worrying over bacteria and bugs and sickness no matter how Steve assured him that dirt was basically harmless. Even despite the assurances, Tony would peer from the windows like he was on patrol, ready and poised to reprimand Banner for being a “bad uncle.” He also watched as the small seeds that pudgy baby fingers pushed into the ground grew into a modest garden of carrots, tomatoes, even watermelon.

Peter waited anxiously for Steve to finish washing and cutting the ripe carrots, tugging on his father’s pant leg determinedly. The boy would then hobble over to Tony, crawling onto his lap with a small piece of vegetable in his clammy palm. He pushed the carrot against Tony’s prickly facial hair and between his lips, squealing and babbling words like, “daddy, carrot!” and then grinning when Tony chewed, Peter humming “yum yum” happily to himself. Peter learned that sweet potatoes tasted much better than the dirt that they grew in, cackling joyfully when his dads congratulated him and Steve blew a raspberry into his cheek.

As the vegetables grew, so did the little fingers which gently picked them from the ground. The little hand clasped in Bruce’s large one began to fill the empty spaces between their fingers as the days passed.


	2. storms will push and pull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Clint isn't afraid of thunderstorms

_Though the storms will push and pull_

_We will call this place our home_

 

Clint didn’t hear the thunder of course- he did’t sleep with his hearing aids in for obvious reasons. So when a small body leapt up onto his bed and began shaking him, he nearly threw the child across the room out of innate assassin survival instincts. Before he could hear what he was saying, he was mumbling something like soothing encouragements to the boy while he reached for the small devices, fixing them in quickly only to be met with an enormous rumbling, accompanied by Peter’s screaming.

“Hey, hey,” he began, reaching out to Peter. “It’s just a little thunder, buddy, you’re alright.” His words seemed in vain as the boy continued to let out another scream, scampering to his side and burying himself in the sheets. Clint winced, feedback filling his head with an even worse sound- he had to ask Stark to fix him up something better, but that could wait. “Shhh,” he whispered, the pained expression on his face seeming to gain gentle Peter’s attention, little teary eyes staring up expectantly at Clint. “Loud noises hurt my ears too,” he offered, giving a thin-lipped smile. “So we just gotta keep it down, alright?” Peter obediently nodded. “What’s up little man?”

“Storm,” Peter murmured fearfully. “An-and-“ his eyes pooled with fresh tears. “I miss daddy.” Another crack filled the air and Peter startled, a frightened squeal escaping before he could stop himself. Clint sighed helplessly. Steve and Tony were both representing The Avengers at the United Nations Security Council and would be back in about three days, having already been gone for two. Peter, though he tried to put a brave expression on his three-year-old face, obviously missed them terribly.

“I know, Peter, I know,” he hummed sadly, ruffling his hand through Peter’s hair. “You can sleep here tonight, alright? Just gotta wait out the storm.”

Peter was silent for a moment, seeming to be thinking deeply before he looked up at Clint again. “The storm didn’t wake you up?” The older man smiled, chuckling a bit before he shook his head.

“No, remember, Pete? I’m deaf,” he explained, amused at the look of realization which crossed the boy’s face. “These help me to hear when I’m awake, but I don’t wear them to sleep.” He gestured to the hearing aids, tapping a finger on the plastic. Another rumble sounded, but Peter was now distracted and only flinched minimally. The kid was finding his footing, standing up on the bed and leaning his hands on Clint’s shoulder, pushing the man’s head forward to inspect the hearing aids. Clint bit down on his lip, trying hard not to laugh at the strange position, Peter’s little fingers running along the back of his head.

“You taught me… um…” Peter began, searching for the right words. With a puzzled, thinking look on his face, he plopped back down, seeming to have forgotten the storm completely. “Your language.”

“Sign language,” Clint corrected affectionately. “I taught you sign language when you were a baby so that even though you couldn’t talk, you could ask daddy for ‘more’ if you wanted more food- you could say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ too. You’re a smarty-pants, that’s why. Do you remember how to say those things?” He asked. Peter shook his head dismally, now completely invested in Clint’s words.

“Teach me,” he requested, a small smile pulling at his teary cheeks. He crawled over Clint’s lap and situated himself on the man’s legs, holding out his hands as if to indicate that he was ready.

“Okay, buddy, this please…” he instructed, laying Peter’s hand on his chest and rubbing in a circular motion. “This is more,” he continued, showing Peter how to pinch his hands and tap them together in the particular sign, “and thank you.” Finally, he pressed Peter’s flat hand to his lips and extending. “See?”

“Show me…” Peter grinned, looking up to the ceiling in thought. “Show me ‘daddy.’”

Clint demonstrated putting his open hand up and placing his thumb to his forehead. Peter followed, a satisfied expression following.

“What is… fart?” Peter giggled, seeming to find the word endlessly funny.

Clint laughed along with him, shaking his head as he positioned Peter’s hands in a clutched position, then releasing the bottom hand and making a farting noise with his mouth. Peter lost it, his laughter serenading the thunder which rumbled in the background, now completely forgotten about.

They stayed like this until Peter leaned his head back against Clint’s chest and drifted off.


End file.
